


Too Young to be Powerful

by Marvell_ousMan



Category: Original Work
Genre: BAMF MC, Bad guys, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, I feel powerful, My First Fanfic, No Romance, Oops, POV Female Character, Powerful MC, Step-parents, and semi-good guys, and useless, as i go, how to tag, i forgot someone died, ill add tags, probs not - Freeform, step mother is called mother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 06:00:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvell_ousMan/pseuds/Marvell_ousMan
Summary: Has her name ever been only her's? It's been so long since anyone's said it, she can't remember what it is, no less if someone else has it. Her mother used to tell her that a name was sacred, it held power. Her name was supposed to be so powerful, so sacred, it'd cause the gods to shit themselves. Her name was banished, forever forgotten. It didn't really matter how powerful her name was, no one was left to say it.But what if? What if her name, and herself for that matter, weren't forgotten at all -- just left to rot?





	Too Young to be Powerful

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this on the same day I ate half a tube of icing and finished building a house on Minecraft, so the quality bar is low. 
> 
> This first one'll be short, I think it will be good to give a quick taste so I can see what this whole story will shape to be. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!! Please comment, I'll really appreciate it!!

She swayed her hips, rocking on her toes as she waited for her mom to catch up to her. Her flats were worn down to the soles, so she felt every pebble under her toes. They had ribbons on the front, frayed ends and color long since rotten. Everytime she wore them she remembered when she got them, swaying as she did now on her feet. 

Her mother had just cut her hair, so it was chopped and uneven. She tried hiding it with a pretty pink bow, hoping that as bright as it was no one would notice the shadow of a person below. They were walking with no real goal in mind, so when she saw the flats in the window, her purpose that day was realized. Those shoes. Slick black with a cute yellow bow, they were going to be hers. Three days later, they were. 

It took persuading and pleading for hours upon hours, begging her mother that she would, of course, wear them every single day, and as she swayed her hips, rocking on her toes, feeling the ground beneath her as she’d done ever since that day, it was definitely worth it. They’d fit her feet perfectly, and even as they wore down with the time of how many times she’s worn them, she couldn’t bear to throw them away. 

But now she was reconsidering how close she was to her flats, as the pebbles in the stone ground piercing her feet brought her back to the present. To her mother huffing at her for skipping ahead, not waiting for her, continuing to nag and nag. She went to that mid-dream world she sometimes goes to when her surroundings get too much. 

Too oppressive. 

Too overwhelming. 

Too -, just too much. 

Her mother was a great indicator of when to return to that mid-dream world. She followed her mother as she continued her nagging, always a few steps behind, always swaying, only stepping on certain steps that caught her eyes, all the while her eyes remaining glazed like she was a puppet forever being pulled along. 

Her hair was still in that hideous cut, under a large bright bow. She was still a shadow below it, trying to remain unseen beneath the pretty silk.  
But she wasn’t unseen, not to her family. Not to her mother, nagging as she was. 

“Where are we going?” She whispered, tugging on her mothers’ dress.  
“If you’d pay attention when I talk about these things-” Her mother started, but the start of a lecture was already zoning her out. She glanced down to her feet, watching as they pitter pattered against the stone, one foot in front of the other. 

She only looked up when she ran into her mother, finally at wherever they were supposed to be. It was a nice building, she supposed, with colored brick and open windows. But there weren’t any flowers in the flower pots, and the paint on the brick was clearly fresh. Compared to the rest of the mall, with its antique doors and overgrown vines, it definitely stood out. It was a building that was supposed to be nice, not welcoming, not personal. Just nice. She knew from experience that ‘just nice’ people terrified her, so she wasn’t thrilled to have to follow her mother. 

As they entered the building, she noted the emptiness of it, even with the sunlight shining in. What they were doing in a place like this, she had no idea. And she had no desire to find out.  
Her mother was still walking however, so she had to keep walking too.

It was hard, though, the blaring lights and pristine white walls reminded her too much of a sterile hospital. Of flicking needles, and sickly patients that only got worse. Pleading mothers and fathers and grandparents that try too hard to pretend. Pretend what, she wasn’t sure, but she knew that the building her mother and her entered was just like that. All fake, with no truth hidden in between the lies. It was much much worse than anything her mother could say to her, as her mother was never fake with her, never ‘just nice,’ and that shook her enough to catch her mother’s worried eyes. Only for a moment, before they went back to normal, but it was a sorrow-filled gaze she couldn’t handle. 

This time, it wasn’t her mother that took her from her dream-world, it was her own stumbling. The polished floors were becoming luminous, seeming to suck any remaining brightness straight from her ribbons, yellow seeping into the floor. She would’ve screamed if she could’ve, but her mother’s grip on her kept her silent. Silence was an unspoken rule in their house. Unless it was her mother. Her mother was expected to yammer on and on, she wasn’t originally from their household after all. For her to be silent was unprecedented. 

If her mother was silent, then she would be a corpse. 

Whatever was waiting for them, she didn’t have more stomach to come up with the courage to face it, there was too much dread. 

There wasn't much she could do, however, as her mother turned sharply into a room that appeared out of a blank stretch, dragging her along. She was right, it turns out, to have worried so much after all. 

Inside the musty room, there was a single chair. And that was it. The chair had wrinkles made of wrinkles, and if not for the blood stains scattered across it, its rust color would've been a fine sight some 20 years ago. She started to wrench out of her mother's grip, fear gripping her harder, but her mother had an unusual strength for her stature. She was yanked into the chair, strapped into it, felt the not quite dry blood stains wet her already dirty clothes, and had a blindfold pushed over her head. She was screaming her mother's name, her original mother's name. 

"--op! Stop!" She screamed, her throat already hoarse. "Mom! Help me, please, stop... Liliane!"

"Didn't I tell you before?" Her mother questioned, "You need to pay attention to what I say."

"Stop! Liliane, help!"

"Your mother has been dead for quite a while now, hun." Her mother said, punching her in the stomach. She was gasping now, heaving into her lap. "That 'ole bitch died so I could live on."

Her mother's footsteps became quieter as she was left stuck in that chair, clenching and releasing the sides, trying to refocus her mind. 

Before her mother left though, her parting words were, "And now, so will you." 

And she was left in complete silence, complete darkness, with only her memories and whatever was to come to await her.


End file.
